


The Man in the Bow Tie

by captainoflifeandlemons



Category: Doctor Who, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Crossover, Gen, I feel like I'm not using the tagging system effectively sorry, Science, bow ties, lampshades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:51:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1517990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainoflifeandlemons/pseuds/captainoflifeandlemons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A number of wells materialize in Night Vale overnight. Chaos reigns, the flood waters rise, and a man in a bow tie pays a visit to this small desert community.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man in the Bow Tie

Time as we know it is an illusion. It is not measurable by human thought. It is not relative to space. And it is actually orange. Welcome to Night Vale.

\--

Well, listeners. Well, well, well. Several wells.They have appeared all over Night Vale and seem to be overflowing. A resident of Old Town called in to say that the streets were flooding, but halfway through the call there was a gurgling sound and the line was dropped, so…you know…whatever. City Council urges citizens to head down to the area where the Night Vale Harbor and Waterfront Recreation Area once stood, not that it ever existed as more than a mass hallucination, and enjoy the view from atop one of the larger piles of rubbish. As for those of you stocking up for the upcoming biannual government-directed drought, this is a _great_ time to fill any buckets, barrels, or shallow and unfulfilled dreams you have lying around with the excess water.

\--

Larry Leroy, out on the edge of town, reports that he was visited last night by a man wearing a bow tie and an expression of burning indifference, or maybe just confusion. The stranger said he was looking for a Scottish man—the logical place to do this being, apparently, the American southwest. He then became very distressed, mumbling something about needing to find his recorder as well, and left Larry’s house through the appropriately marked window. He has not returned. Larry also gave me the recipe for a new lunch dish, although I haven’t yet had the time to make it since…I just got this report. Also, I just don’t think I have enough corporeal hatred, and that’s pretty clearly listed as a main ingredient.  Anyways, if you see any strangers with unfamiliar accents or musical instruments floating around town on the rising floodwaters, contact Larry. He’ll probably never see the man in the bow tie again, but he does need a new housekeeper, and says that either the Scottish man or the recorder would do nicely.

\--

Let’s take a look at the community calendar.

Monday will be a day of reflection. Look in as many mirrors as possible. Walk by puddles of water, rivers of water, oceans of water, wells. Stare deep into the eyes of each person you pass, beyond this plane of reality into the very essence of their being, of all being, and reflect.

Tuesday is being universally ignored. By _everyone_. It’s, like, not even a thing anymore. Shun Tuesday.

Wednesday is scheduled for the biannual government-directed drought, assuming pesky things like well-materializations and nature don’t get in the way. Look for black helicopters in the sky on Wednesday. You won’t see them, but they will be there.

Thursday is going to be terrible. Now, I can’t tell you why, but believe me, if you’re looking for somewhere to be, Thursday is totally not the right choice. It’s going to be just awful.

On Friday, we will be recovering from Thursday.

Saturday, Night Vale’s National Guard Station and KFC Combo Store will be holding a sail. A large, kind of beige sail. They have gone mobile, and are travelling around Night Vale on their new sailboat. Which does not, as of yet, have a sail. But it will this Saturday, so be ready.

Sunday evening, Mayor Pamela Winchell will be holding a press conference. Mayoral candidates Hiram McDaniels, the Faceless Old Woman who secretly lives in your home, and Marcus Vansten—what a _great_ guy—will be in attendance. As will you, whether you had orignally planned on going or not.

\--

Listeners, the man in the bow tie has returned. He has been seen all over town, from Old Woman Josie’s house to the hole in the vacant lot out back of the Ralph’s to a picture of the City Council taken over fifty years ago. He paid a second visit to Larry Leroy, out on the edge of town. Larry says that the man had a different nose and less distinct eyebrows. In fact, he looked like an entirely different person, but he’s “definitely still the same guy,” Larry explained. “Even wearing the same bow tie!” The stranger was no longer looking for a Scottish man or a recorder, but instead a temporal anomaly he claims his ship picked up in this area. He then declared himself to be a doctor. Listeners, I talked to a representative from the Greater Night Vale Medical Community, who explained that in response to last month’s budget cuts they’ve replaced all of their medical staff with cardboard cutouts. Whoever this doctor is, he is not one of us.

\--

Further news on the wells. 

The flooding has spread throughout most of the greater Night Vale area. The ground floor of the Night Vale Community Radio Station is covered in several inches of water. I sent Intern Allison down to refill the coffee pot, but she hasn’t returned yet. It’s only been a few hours, though, so I wouldn’t worry. The Sheriff’s Secret Police have taken refuge in City Hall, which is staying dry through a system of hydrophobic carpeting and guards, who have been employed to glare at the water. This is actually working rather well for them. Kids, if you’re looking to make some money, try offering your services as a guard against the terrible dangers of hydration.

\--

Now, a word from our sponsors.

There is a light coming from the closet on the second floor of your house. You cannot see it from where you lay cowering in the basement, but it is there. Slowly you began to move towards the stairs, each footstep weighing heavily in your mind, lagging as you head up, up. The light grows brighter, and you can see it now. It seems to encompass everything, darkness forgotten beneath you as you move ever more gradually towards it. Your hand rests on the doorknob, light spilling from underneath the cracks of the second-story door. Your house does not have a second floor. You do not live in a house. Your home was taken from you as payment for the time you took off from work last weekend. Your manager reported you—out of concern. If you see any more _concerning_ behavior, let us know. Let us know, or the light will go out. For the sake of our _community._

This message brought to you by StrexCorp Synernists Incorporated. Productivity is productive, and resistance is unnecessary. Also, futile.

\--

Our new management just sent me down a note that StrexCorp would like to be tagged on to that last dispatch. Listeners, if you are approached by a man wearing a bow tie, run. Your quick motions will trigger the sensors attached to the footwear of every Night Vale citizen. You know, as a safeguard against this sort of thing. Run, and our friends at StrexCorp will be alerted. So don’t worry if you find yourself suddenly surrounded by strange figures in matching yellow suits. They’re there to help you. Just keep running. Also, the man is assumed to be capable of removing his bow tie, so to be on the safe side you should take this precautionary measure anytime that anyone at all approaches you.

\--

Let’s go to the traffic.

Every street in Night Vale is currently flooded. Today, you should probably not drive. At all. For those who cannot swim or have severe water allergies, boats are the suggested mode of transportation. Looks like it’s time to take that canoe out of your attic, folks! But before engaging in water travel, make sure that you have the proper license with you. Representatives of a vague, yet menacing government agency will be performing checks on every fifth or so citizen passing through the watery streets of our town. These checks will be completely random, so as usual, those wearing suspiciously trademarked clothing and darkened sunglasses will probably be stopped. Anyone engaging in reckless or unethical behavior while crossing the water will have both their boat and sense of smell confiscated, to be returned—or not—at a later date, probably to somebody else.

\--

Do you ever stop to think about lampshades?

Light bulbs, specifically the ones in lamps, are like less distant suns. Small, insignificant, portable suns. _Bitter_ suns. They were not made to be confined. We put them in the shade, in the darkness, because we fear what their light will reveal—as we should _._ Shadows are the only sense of security that we have, however false. Put a lampshade on every lamp you own. Do what little you can to block their terrible, omniscient brightness. Cower on the edge of the room, where the light cannot reach you. Close your windows. Close your eyes. Unplug all appliances using electricity, but the light will still be there. It will always be there, even though you will not.

This has been the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner.

\--

Night Vale, I have several updates to give you. Things have changed. Many things. Others have not.

The Night Vale Marine Biologist’s Association, working alongside Carlos and his team of scientists, made a startling discovery about the wells. They are not _actually_ filled with water. The liquid spilling over our town and drowning several of the less skilled swimmers is nothing more than decaffeinated soda. The wells, it turns out, were a marketing ploy by Big Rico’s Pizza. Big Rico will now be serving soft drinks with his wheat and wheat-byproduct free dishes instead of just dehydrated saltwater, as was the old custom.

The marine biologists and other less aquatically centered scientists did not learn this on their own. Actually, they only found out when a man in a bow tie tripped and fell into the water fifty feet or so in front of them (and a little to their left). The man, looking surprised, lowered his face to the river running down the street and _licked_ it. “It’s sugar water. Carbonated sugar water,” he is reported to have declared loudly in the general direction of nobody at all. The scientists noted this with great relief, as the bubbles had previously been thought to be coming from the unnamable entity living directly underneath our city, slowly coming closer and closer to the surface, its breath breaking through the cracks of the earth. The man then glanced up at the sky, yelled something unintelligible, and disappeared into an alleyway. When one of the scientists poked her head down the street, it was empty. Completely empty. Even the wells had stopped their flowing, and the liquid was all running off into the hole in the vacant lot out back of the Ralph’s. Probably to feed the unnamable entity living below our city. It is coming closer to the surface, coming ever closer…just as I bring you closer now to…the weather.

\--

Listeners, I went to check on Khoshekh during the break. When I returned, a large, blue box stood inside the recording studio. A soft humming sound came from the inside. Standing next to the box was a man wearing a bow tie. We stood there for a moment, staring at each other, not speaking. His clothes, including the bow tie, were still slightly damp from the soda, and I could see the footprints he had left on my floor—footprints that did not enter in through the door, but instead from the box. After a moment, he opened its door, winked, and told me “Not yet, Cecil. But someday.” He went into the box and was gone. And I mean really gone. There was a sound like whole universes colliding against each other and politely apologizing, as the whole box just disappeared.

I don’t know who this doctor was, or why he was here, but his words stuck with me. Someday. Someday, perhaps he will return. Someday perhaps I will return. Someday I may not be here at all. The future lays before us, slightly damp with uncertainty and sugar water. A thousand some days and some nights are ahead of us—only, less, for some of you, and more for others. And today listeners, tonight, is just another some night. Some night that has already come, and will never come again. Unless it does. Some night, this some night, you will lie awake, alone but for the sound of my voice. Some nights, this is a good night. Good night, Night Vale. Good night.

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was written as a birthday present for a friend of mine, but I hope you enjoyed it as well. Thanks so much for reading (special thanks to my beta reader!), and if you have any questions, comments, or complaints, I'd be happy to hear them. The Doctors mentioned were Two and Eleven respectively.


End file.
